The dead don’t talk, they don’t play games They walk through doors Somewhere a chain to bind them to time Over time the stories have grown To keep the local boys from playing in the old mill House Many have entered and never returned The towns folk say it should be pulled down The sea has tried to reclaim the old mill house It stands perilously at the edge of the land If you visit the grave of Tommy Wilson You lose the power of free will To plead with your mind would be useless You enter the old mill house, never to be seen again… ©AnitaDawes2022
She may be paranoid, but is she right?
A string of gruesome murders rocks the small town of Alexandria, New Hampshire, with all the victims staged to resemble dead angels, and strange red and pink balloons appearing out of nowhere.
All the clues point to the Romeo Killer’s return. Except one: he died eight years ago.
Paranoid and on edge, Sage’s theory makes no sense. Dead serial killers don’t rise from the grave. Yet she swears he’s here, hungering for the only angel to slip through his grasp—Sage.
With only hours left to live, how can Sage convince her Sheriff husband before the sand in her hourglass runs out?
Sue Coletta is an award-winning crime writer and an active member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. Feedspot and Expertido.org named her Murder Blog as “Best 100 Crime Blogs on the Net.” She also blogs at the Kill Zone (Writer’s Digest “101 Best Websites for Writers”) and Writers Helping Writers.
Sue lives with her husband in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire and writes two psychological thriller series, Mayhem Series and Grafton County Series (Tirgearr Publishing) and is the true crime/narrative nonfiction author of PRETTY EVIL NEW ENGLAND: True Stories of Violent Vixens and Murderous Matriarchs (Rowman & Littlefield Group). Sue teaches a virtual course about serial killers for EdAdvance in CT and a condensed version for her fellow Sisters In Crime. She’s appeared on the Emmy award-winning true crime series, Storm of Suspicion. In October 2022, she’s filming three episodes of Homicide: Hours to Kill for Cineflix. Learn more about Sue and her books at https://suecoletta.com
The mysterious red balloon that suddenly turns up in Sage Quintano’s bedroom triggers panic, setting the scene for a promisingly terrifying story.
Years might have passed, but the fear and the awful memories have not.
I have always loved the relationship between Sage and her husband, Niko, but this time, life might just give them more than either of them can handle. Worrying about them will keep you on the edge of your seat!
The tension in this story never ceases; reading it is like running a nightmare marathon. But I loved every word!
Haloed is one of the best thrillers I have read this year…
Image by Dimitris Vetsikas from Pixabay The cruel things we say and do leave us with no return adrift in a sea of humanity How then, do we fill those lonely hours? self is never enough Despair grows like weeds in an unkept garden The chair you sit in, sour comfort for companionship How then do we step out from under the dark cloud? ©AnitaDawes2022
Side effects, really?
After such a dreadful October, for so many wrong reasons, this month is fast behaving like the perfect autumn weather. Damp and misty, with chilly spells and brief bouts of welcome sunshine.
Of course, this meant I had no excuse for staying indoors but to at least try to clear the shambles outside the back door. I spent over an hour out there yesterday, but it will need several more visits from me before winter sets in.
We are still trying our best to recover from the covid virus, but the lingering aftereffects are in many ways worse than the virus. Apart from the general weakness and all the aches and pains, I seem to be having weird hallucinations too. At first, I thought my vision was playing up, but it kept happening, and I saw vague people shapes and small animals going up the stairs or passing me around the house. Sis has developed vertigo, which is most unpleasant. These are both real side effects and can last for months. We won’t be sorry to see the back of them, and the sooner, the better.
We pray we don’t get this virus again, and our booster shots are already booked.
I was determined to make some headway in the seriously cluttered office, too, weird visions notwithstanding. I have been trying to conjure more enthusiasm, which, I hope, will grant some much-needed inspiration. I actually gritted my teeth and looked at the current WIP, and surprisingly, I was pleased by what I saw; so very happy about that.
All I need now is to find where my get up and go is hiding, so I can get back to it.
(and a little normality would be wonderful!)
Continued from last week. HERE
Trying to remember what I knew about St Germaine Like clockwork, my thoughts kicked in He was a wealthy man, into the occult Many thought of him as a second Jesus I hoped to find the secret documents written by him, and the book I searched for They say he is a man who knows everything, who never dies But where are these documents now? Turning back to the altar, I wondered who had placed the camellias I had trampled on. Were they a clue to the keyhole I needed to find? It felt like I held an ancient charm in my hand Mice ran around my feet, mingling with the chaos of this place I wondered where the strong smell of peppermint had come from There stood a young lady in her twenties, slim, some would say fairylike She spoke first, “I thought I was the only one who had dibs on this place, are you looking for something?” For a moment, wondering if she was real, I couldn’t speak The key felt hot in my hand I answered, “I was walking when I found this place.” Having exhausted my search for the keyhole, I thought it lay elsewhere I didn’t want to tell her why I was here With the amount of rubble on the floor I should have heard her walk away It seemed she had vanished, leaving me mulling over her last words “You never know what you could find in a place like this.” With no keyhole, my search goes on, wondering if she was real and what she might know about this place… ©AnitaDawes2022
Image from Pixabay.com
Image from Pixabay.com ~ Acrostic Poem by A Dawes 2022